Unrefined
by nonotthatone
Summary: Clex, one-shot. Clark wants Lex to venture outside his comfort zone. Pointless fluff and cowboy hats.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

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Unrefined

Lex was never exactly sure how he got himself into these situations.

On the one hand, he knew exactly how he'd gotten himself into it; it was Clark, his eyes bright with excitement and his face spread with an infectious grin. He could talk you into anything. He hadn't even had to say anything more than, "Come on, Lex."

But on the other hand – the rodeo? What next, a tractor pull?

Clark was always teasing him, calling him a snob. Maybe he was one. He'd far rather take Clark to the Metropolis Opera, or spend the afternoon at the City Museum of Art. He might occasionally be moved to buy him front-row seats and backstage passes for whatever rock band had the number one hit on the charts at the moment – but he'd take him there in the limo.

Things like this, though, were just out of his depth.

Maybe that was why Clark insisted on asking. They'd already been to the opera, and the museum of art. Despite his silly blue and red flannel, Clark seemed to slip so easily into Lex's world; but in Clark's, Lex still felt conspicuous and out-of-place.

He'd play along though. Clark had that affect on him. And when you got right down to it, he could never tell him no.

And if you can't beat them …

"So what do you think?" he said without preamble, strolling into the barn and opening his arms.

Clark threw his head back and roared with laughter. "No way."

"What? I thought if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."

"I'm sorry," Clark choked. "I get it. I just think the Stetson is a bit much."

"Ok," Lex smiled, taking the hat off and moving closer. "It would probably suit you better anyway." He reached up and placed the silly thing on Clark's head, tipping it to a rakish angle. "Oh yes, I like that."

"Do you now?" Clark asked, inclining his chin and letting his voice drop a register. He put one hand on his belt buckle and reached up with the other to adjust the hat brim with two fingers.

Lex blinked. The question was not whether Clark as Cowboy was sexy. The question was whether to encourage him by telling him so.

When Lex failed to come up with a witty repartee, Clark laughed and tossed the hat onto the nearest stack of hay bales. "I don't think it's necessary to take it quite that far," he said, letting one arm fall easily around Lex. "I like the dressed-down look on you, though." His eyes were admiring on Lex's jeans and plain black shirt, particularly the buttons he'd left undone at the collar.

"Well, I thought wearing Armani to an event like this might be something of a _faux pas_."

"You are unbelievable," Clark grinned. "Do you do it on purpose?"

"What?"

"That arch, pretentious thing you do."

Lex lifted his eyebrows. "This is not exactly what you'd call my element."

Clark sobered. "I know. And you're humoring me anyway. Which is really great of you."

"Don't get all emotional there, cowboy." Lex's sarcasm was only half-hearted; it was hard to really mean it with the way Clark was looking at him.

"Can't help it." Clark was smiling again, and this time he pulled Lex close. "Thank you."

Lex closed his eyes and let himself be thanked. But when they separated, he replied, "If you're so grateful, let me drive."

"Are you kidding? What are you in today – the Porsche, the Audi or the Ferrari?"

"The BMW," he replied, somewhat affronted.

"Oh, slumming," Clark chuckled. "We can't show up to the rodeo in that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a _rodeo_, Lex. There will be mud and manure."

He had a point. "… Fine then."

Clark's eyes flashed. "Besides, you don't always complain about the pickup."

"Mmm," Lex breathed, noncommittal. The truck did have, he would grudgingly admit, some roughneck charm. It had more space than a sports car of any make - space they sometimes needed - and at least Clark didn't have a gun rack. But it lacked the panache of European engineering, and the shocks were horrible. He thought of the potholed Kansas roads and for a moment empathized with bronco riders and their damaged spines.

"I'll throw some blankets in the back …" Clark's voice was teasing, tempting. "We can find a nice field on the way home, park out under the stars."

Now that was more like it. Lex shot Clark a sideways glance … an evening of shouting, spitting and cheap beer might just be worthwhile if that's how it would end.

"All right, all right," he huffed affectedly. "… But, Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"… Bring the hat."


End file.
